Bottle up emotions - Mystique
by raven8448
Summary: The pain, the grief, the suffering has all become too much for a certain shapeshifter. Read through and find out how she copes with it all and whether it gets better or worse.


**Chapter one**

This house was all too familiar to her. It brought memories of excitement, happiness and laughter, but also nightmares of the dreams that have been shattered. It was once a house with a family as its residents, but old twisted fate had to ruin their fun. From there everything went to hell. Her love, gone. Her daughter, gone. Her sanity, going.

Raven wandered the home of distant memories to only be cloaked in dust from above. The house itself was neat, working, just the way she needed it. But dust had formed and spiders now made their home here. She climbed up the stairs. One small creak at a time. Her eyes watched her feet guide her through the hall to soon stop at a familiar doorway. It took a moment for her to look up but when she did she saw her beloved taking her daily nap… In their bedroom. It made her smile for once for what felt like a lifetime. But her smile soon faded, as did her lover when reality set in. Dust. Everywhere. Turning the white bed sheets into a thick sheet of grey. It tickled her nose. She walked to the closet to open its doors wide. The scent of mothballs charged at her one sense. Her sneeze slightly echoed through the room. And the disturbed dust particles became floating glimmers of lights within the sun's rays that emitted through the bedroom window. She opened her eyes. Beige bags hung from the wooden rod. All her dresses. She could still remember the order she had kept them in. Green, yellow, red, green, blue and purple. Raven closed the closet doors as sadness was getting the best of her.

The room opposite held the similar effect on her. Directly in front of her was an open door, giving her a full view of a Zac Efron poster. She remembered how that poster annoyed her so. She stepped up to the door frame. The room, empty and full of dust. For some reason she wouldn't allow herself in. It was once a rule of her daughter's that you must ask before entering, something of which Raven had always ignored. But now, she couldn't find the heart to disobey her wishes this time. Instead she reached for the door handle and pulled it closed. She wasn't ready to say goodbye yet.

It took a lot to hold back her tears. Even if she were alone, she couldn't let herself cry. She let go of the door handle to see her own sad, grieving self reflecting back at her in gold. She couldn't stand it. Her heart beat elevated into an abnormal range. Both her palms and the back of her neck became moist in sweat. Raven rushed down the staircase and to the kitchen. She pulled out the top drawer completely so it, and all its contents scattered upon the vinyl flooring. Even from above she could still see her reflection shining back up at her. A shrieking 'no' escaped her lips before she kicked all the cutlery around the kitchen floor. Raven didn't hesitate to pull out the remaining three drawers as well. Their contents now spread beyond the four walls of the kitchen. This scene deemed familiar to another mutant. One by the name of Wolverine. While he slashed and stabbed everything with viral rage, she could only destroy objects with her bare hands. Though in the same manner of him.

Her queer behaviour only kept growing. Kitchen appliances were thrown around the room and smashed against walls and flooring. Raven carried out her behaviour through the next number of rooms; smashing picture frames, throwing vases of wilted flowers against the walls leaving black dribbling lines of water to stain the baby blue coloured wall. And bookcases pushed to the ground while ornaments and their favourite of books piled under the bookcase. She walked out into bare sunlight. Blue skin shining brightly in the sun, noticeable by anyone who dares to look. Raven headed to the back shed where her darling once kept her garden supplies. From inside she grabbed a rusty, filthy shovel. Both hands gripped the wooden handle of the shovel as she carried it inside. Every metal doorknob past was forced off by her strength behind the shovel, then smashed right in front of her. From there she carried her energy up to the bedrooms. Immediately the door knob of her daughter's room was forced off and the door swung open. It was a small room, but so much damage could be done. Yet her inner self shined through and she didn't allow herself to enter once again.

Raven now faced her old bedroom. Although she could enter the room, there was nothing she felt should be broken. Her whole body relaxed as her rage came to an end. Standing by the door, she dropped the shovel to her feet. Tears fell silently to then splatter onto the rusted shovel.

**Chapter two**

Her eyes fluttered open. From darkness came light, right in front of her face. At that moment she thought she was dead, until faces start swarmed her. As her eyes adjusted she could recognize the faces. To her left, Rogue. To her right, The Professor. And next to them Storm and Gambit. Only three she was somewhat glad to see. "Do you know where you are?" A strong feminine voice sternly spoke. It was familiar. Though at this moment in recognizable. With her throat dry, she didn't want to strain herself to speak. So she nodded, hoping that the owner of the voice will claim it. She looked down. A peg clipped her finger. And a needle connected to a tube poked out of her hand. "We found you lying on the floor in a bedroom..." The professor's voice trailed. Raven turned to the right to face the professor. "An' we found dis here mask within your grasp, chere." A golden mask stole her attention as it was held in front of her. Its eye holes empty, but the lips of it still resembled hers. She could see her reflection shining back at her. Tubes were plugged into both nostrils for breathing support. But her mutation didn't dare show a sign of tiredness. Though she dreaded seeing her reflection, she just couldn't stop staring. Maybe it was because she didn't remember holding it, or maybe not. But at least this way they wouldn't notice one of her biggest weaknesses. "Ma… What happened? The house was trashed…." Her Southern accent flew strong into her ears. But she didn't answer.

Was her sanity going? Or was it grief settling in?


End file.
